


anxiously awaiting

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Jack's Triumphant Return, Light Angst, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: A tumblr prompt, Mac is waiting for Jack's return
Comments: 16
Kudos: 75





	anxiously awaiting

**Author's Note:**

> from an anonymous tumblr prompt: Jack coming home, hes already heard about james’ death and everything thats happened, and when he comes upon mac in the war room neither of them even say anything, they just hug for like two minutes straight
> 
> Not sure if this is what you had in mind, friend, but I hope you enjoy it!

Pink, cotton candy clouds drift, hanging outside the jet. Mac’s head rests against the window as they chase the sunrise back to LA. Blinking against the grit in his eyes, he tugs on the sleeve of his shirt, revealing his watch. The second-hand ticks, making a full rotation before he sighs and lets his sleeve drop back into place. 

Mac shifts in his seat, scrubbing his burning eyes. Anxious energy thrums under his skin, the hair on his arms prickling and chasing away his fatigue. 

He gave up his usual spot on the couch seconds after reaching cruising altitude in favor of pacing the length of the aisle. Eleven measured steps before spinning on his heel and making his way back. Legs moving on autopilot, fingers tapping against his thighs, twisting the cuffs of his shirt. Heavy eyelids drifted closed - breaths deep and even - before flying opened with renewed vigor, until he dropped with exhaustion into the nearest seat. 

He hates the way his chest feels tight while flying. The combination of pressure and realization that he’s thousands of miles away from the ground. 

Jittery muscles quiver under skin that feels taut to the point of snapping. His fingers find the watch face again, staring at the time with intensity before propping his cheek on his fist and turning back to the window. 

“Have you figured it out yet?”

Mac’s head snaps up, turning towards Desi in the seat across the aisle. 

“What?”

“You’ve looked at your watch three times in the last sixty seconds. Or at least what felt like sixty seconds to me. I was wondering if you finally figured out time travel.”

Mac rolls his eyes and turns back to the window.

“We’re four hours away.”

Mac holds up his forearm like he’s blocking a punch. “Just under four,” he smirks and taps his watch. 

“I’m just saying, sitting there checking your watch over and over again? It’s going to be a long four hours. Why don’t you, I don’t know, watch a movie? Take a nap?”

“I’m not tired.”

Desi gives a sarcastic nod. “Of course not. It’s not like we were up until four in the morning local time. Definitely, didn’t crisscross dozens of timezones in the week since we’ve been home.” 

“Slowing down in your old age, Des? Nothing to be ashamed of. You’re what? Ten years older than me?”

“You want to be alive to make it to this supposed reunion, MacGyver? Go to sleep,” Desi curls up in her seating, facing away from Mac, pulling her blanket up over her shoulder. 

Mac spares one more glance at his watch. “Wish I had mastered time travel. It would already be tonight.”

* * *

The pressurized hatch opens with a hiss. Mac breathes a small sigh of relief that accompanies his body’s realization that he’s back safely on the ground. He pokes his head out of the door squinting in the bright sunlight, bounding down the boarding steps, slowing as he reaches the pavement, smile faltering. 

“Just me,” Bozer says, pushing up from where he’s leaning against Mac’s jeep. “Sorry.”

Mac shrugs. “It’s early. I was just-”

“Hoping for a miracle?” Bozer asks.

“Miracle seems disproportionate,” Mac mumbles. “He’s coming.”

“More like he was hoping the jet flew around the world at Superman-speeds,” Desi yawns, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. 

“That was for going back in time,” Mac scoffs. 

“I feel like we did some of that too,” Desi squints into the sun with a frown. “What time is it?”

“It’s the perfect time for a late breakfast. I was thinking donuts?” 

“I was thinking whatever gets me through this debrief faster so I can get home and go to bed. Especially if I’m supposed to help you grill tomorrow night,” Desi stows her bag in the back of the jeep. 

“I’m not really hungry,” Mac swallows, his stomach rolling with unease.

Bozer exchanges a look with Desi.

“I can see both of you,” Mac says, crawling into the front seat, content to let Bozer keep the keys.

“It’s just, you gotta eat, Mac. Gonna be a long day already. If nothing else, it’s something to help pass the time.”

“He’s going to take one look at you and know you didn’t eat-”

“He can’t do-”

“If he can do it on a zoom call, he can absolutely do it in person. I didn’t keep you alive for the last year to get scolded because you turned down donuts this morning.” 

* * *

Long legs kicked out in front of him and arms crossed against his chest Mac focuses on keeping his breath slow and steady. Ignoring the steadily increasing ache. He feels ready to jump out of his skin, heart racing in his chest. His eyes are closed, but he’s nowhere near sleep. Beyond wired. 

He’s sprawled into one of the deep, leather armchairs in the War Room, lights burning bright against his lids.

The door opens.

He flinches, breaths coming a tick faster as his brain buzzes. 

He tries to hold himself steady, a thrill rushing down his spine.

The voice behind him that whispers, “Mac” is at least a full octave too high, too soft.

“Matty?” Mac’s eyes open in surprise. His brow furrows and he swallows disappointment. It sticks in his throat.

“I think you should go home, Mac,” she rests a hand on his shoulder. “You’re exhausted.”

Mac gives a small shake of his head. A small twitch pulls one side of his mouth into a half-smile. He’s seen his reflection, he knows it looks brittle. “I’m fine.” 

He knows she doesn’t believe him. “You will be.”

“I’m not leaving now.”

“Mac, we don’t even have confirmation-”

“He promised.” Mac swallows hard. He shrugs. “He promised.” 

“Okay.” He hates when Matty’s voice sounds soft like this. She doesn’t believe him. He’s pretty sure no one does. They’re just humoring him. Planning to be there to pick up the pieces when he’s wrong. When he’s left waiting again like that ten year old kid on the front steps as the sun sets on his birthday. “I need the room though. I have another team heading out.”

With a nod, Mac leverages himself out of his chair, muscles shouting in protest. He limps stiffly towards the door.

“And Mac,” Matty’s voice stops him before he leaves. “I know... he promised... but just in case…”

Mac’s jaw clicks. 

“Either way, you need to get some rest. I don’t want to hear that you waited all night.”

* * *

“Oh hell no,” Riley growls. “He promised.”

“That’s what I said,” Mac says flipping his safety goggles down over his eyes and turning on his soldering iron. He tries to ignore the way his hands shake as he manipulates the tool and the tiny components.

“Guy is gone for a year and everyone just starts doubting him?”

“Exactly,” Mac says, squinting as his fatigued eyes blur. He sits back against the rolling chair, turning off the heat. He pulls off his goggles and squeezes the bridge of his nose, trying to clear his vision. “I guess Desi hasn’t worked with him in person for a while so maybe she’s forgotten what he’s like?

“But Bozer doubting the message and your ability to decipher it?”

“Et tu, Boze,” Mac shakes his head. A small giggle burst from his chest. “Ah, I’m getting punchy.” Mac squeezes his eyes shut then opens them wide, an attempt to wake himself. 

Riley socks him lightly on the shoulder and chuckles at the physical pun. 

“Ow,” Mac’s mouth pops open in surprise and protest, before dissolving into a wide yawn. “You don’t have an excuse, you’ve been home this last week,”

“You think sitting around running algorithms and writing code made this week pass quickly? At least you had running, and chasing, and people shooting at you for a distraction. I thought I was going to lose my mind if I had to sit in front of my rig any longer.” 

“I feel kind of like I poured a Red Bull into a seven shot espresso,” Mac’s leg bounces. He glances up at the clock on the wall. “I just hope I’m not wrong.”

“Mac, not you too!”

“No, no, I know. He promised. I just. I’m not really used to people making promises, let alone keeping them and…” The ache chokes him. 

Loss like a vice against his heart. Regret suffocates him. 

Fear has a stranglehold, smothering any sense of hope. 

Riley’s hand rests against his shoulder, squeezing the juncture of his neck.

“I don’t doubt him, but it’s getting late, and I… what if I’m wrong?”

“When have you ever been wrong, hoss?”

Mac’s head snaps up. His breath catches in his throat before it’s released in a strangled gasp.

A duffle thuds against the floor. 

Time slows like the special effects from one of Bozer’s movies. Mac stands on shaky legs. The lab doors hiss as they close, bump the discarded bag, and open again. Mac’s pulse rushes in his ears. 

He takes a step forward on limbs that refuse to work, he stumbles and feels like he might hit the deck. Jack, always knowing exactly what he needs, closes the distance. Opening his arms, Mac falls against him, head resting on his shoulder, clutching fistfuls of the back of Jack’s shirt. 

A sob, stifled against Jack’s chest.

Jack’s hand cradles his head, arms wrap around Mac tight. 

“Breathe, Mac,” Jack whispers. His voice thick. Wet. “I got you. Breathe.”

And for the first time in a year, it feels like he can. 


End file.
